


Country Roads, Take Me Home

by just_another_classic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Drinking, F/M, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20849162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_another_classic/pseuds/just_another_classic
Summary: Sharon, Sam, and Wanda attempt to convince Steve to relax while they're on the run. They have varying levels of success.





	Country Roads, Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> This story assumes that Sharon joined Steve and Co. while on the run past-Civil War. Obviously, Endgame josses their relationship, but the joy of fanfic is that I can plan it doesn't exist.

Not for the first time, Steve Rogers wishes he could get drunk. He envies the way tension seems to evaporate from Sam’s shoulders as the night wears on and the drinks flow. 

They’re at a bar in Indonesia, posing as tourists as they hunt down another HYDRA cell. Relaxing there has him itchy and looking over his shoulder every few minutes. He would not have made the decision to venture out here — not the overly crowded venue with visitors who could very well recognize them — but both Natasha and Sharon assured him that it would be fine, and even spies needed night off.

_ “Soldiers, too,” _ Sharon had added, as sensing his next argument. 

He wishes that he could believe them. They’re the experts, or so they remind him, but they don’t have the gnawing guilt he does. Natasha says that makes him a terrible spy, which might be true, but he’s the one they all ruined their lives for, not her. Clint and Scott are stuck under house arrest, and the rest of them are bouncing around the world following him. If something happened to them under his watch, he isn’t sure he could take it. 

_ “We made that choice,” _ Sharon had said, as if her words would allay his guilt.

So Steve nurses a beer that will do nothing, and watches as the people who followed him into war let loose for the night because he can’t deny them this peace. Sam is leaning over a pool table, teaching Wanda the finer points of the game. She isn’t drinking, uncomfortable with the idea of intentionally inhibiting her mental faculties and the loss of control, but she seems to be enjoying herself well enough. Natasha is...well, Steve isn’t entirely sure where Natasha has slinked off to, but she’d chewed him out the last time he went stalking after her, so he keeps himself seated. Sharon is at the bar, ordering another drink, looking pretty in the dress she had bartered for earlier in the afternoon. 

Steve is apparently not the only person to think she looks nice. From his booth, he watches as another man walks into her orbit in an attempt to catch her attention. Annoyance settles in his belly, but he tamps it down and takes another long pull from his drink. He is man enough to admit he gets jealous, but he also knows no good comes from acting on that feeling, so instead he settles in to enjoy watching her diffuse the situation. He is, after all, only human. 

She does so breezily, a smile here and a nod there. She tilts her head back to Steve, and he can only oblige by raising his glass in reply. The other man’s face falls, but he recovers quickly. Steve worries, for a brief moment, that the man might recognize him, but the others have assured him that the beard he’s now sporting obscures his face. Sure enough, the other man appears to not realize whose girl he was hitting on, but backs off nonetheless. Then the bartender hands Sharon a fruity concoction, and she is making her way back to join him. 

“I’m normally a bourbon kind of girl, but when it Rome, right?” Sharon says when she slides into the booth. She has a disdain for sitting with her back to the room, and since Steve has taken post against the wall, it means she’s pressed comfortably to his side. Instinct and the desire to play the part — after all, that is why she went for the fruity cocktail instead of her preferred old fashioned — has him readjusting his arm and wrapping it over her shoulders. “Wanna taste?”

He obliges, taking a sip from the curly straw, and winces when he tastes the sugary and coconut flavor. It does, however, mostly mask the burn of the liquor. “You truly are taking one for the team right now.”

She laughs, and Steve feels a surge of pride in getting that reaction. Their courtship is far stranger than he had ever imagined. Their first kiss had come after she’d thrown her life away for his cause, and they learn more about one another over mission briefs and late night chats in whatever safe house they find themselves holed up in. It’s not how he would have planned in. In a different world, there would be moonlit walks by the water, and he’d take her dinner at his favorite diner and bring her flowers he bought on a whim from the corner bodega. 

_ “You know, if you had just listened to me years ago and asked her out when I told you to, you could have done all of that. Sleep in the bed you’ve made, Captain,”  _ Natasha had told him when he’d made the mistake of venting to her about how he wishes he could do better by his relationship with Sharon. Of course, Natasha had cheekily followed up her admonishment with,  _ “Or, you know, do more enjoyable things than sleep. Just not when you’re sharing a wall with me.” _

As if finding the time and space to do  _ that _ with the close quarters the team has been keeping is easy. They’ve managed to round a couple of bases, but he’s old fashioned enough to want the first time he takes her to bed to be something special. Or, at the very least, for it to be a nice bed with none of their friends or allies within close vicinity. The simple things, really. 

“Relax, baby. You’re so tense. This is supposed to be a vacation,” she says, snuggling deeper into his side. Her tone is entirely too sweet, but Steve knows she’s giving him a warning regardless. He does not look like a man adventuring with his lady love on a romantic getaway. Not with the way he’s sure he’s been scowling. 

“Sorry, caught up in my own head,” he apologies. He presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “I worry, that’s all.”

“Well, don’t. Relax.” Sharon twists in his arms so that she can kiss him. She tastes of her terribly fruity drink, but he doesn’t mind it too much, instead relishing the movement of her lips against his and the sweep of her tongue in his mouth. He hears a whistle, and Sharon breaks the kiss long enough to properly throw a middle finger in Sam’s direction. 

“Relax,” he mimics, catching her hand and moving so that he could kiss her knuckles. 

He wonders, not for the first time, how their relationship might have developed if he had gotten over his bitterness and went along with Natasha’s request to ask Sharon out again. Would there have been moonlight walks down by the Potomac? Would she have taken him to her favorite burger joint, the one she claims she dreams about? How long would it have been until they fell into bed? Would they still be together now?

Deciding there was no use in playing ‘What if?’ — that game nearly drove him mad when he’d first awoken from the ice — he instead tries to settle and ‘relax’. Effective alcohol would make the process easier, but Sharon’s close presence helps. He inhales the floral scent of her shampoo and relishes in the warm press of her body. 

She tells him, in a low whispery voice that goes straight to his groin, about her last time in Indonesia tracking down a mark. He listens as she details her cover of being a social media influencer, her voice taking on the affect of a so-called valley girl.

“You’re good at that,” he comments, impressed with her skills, “the accent thing. You’re good.”

“Why, thank you.”

It’s not the first time he’s noticed it. She’s excellent at sounding uncomfortably like Peggy, and he French is flawless to his ears. She can also mimic a Brooklyn accent, but that only comes out when she’s teasing him. Not that he minds too much. It’s cute. It’s a couple sort of behavior them feels almost...normal. 

“Did you know,” Sharon begins, pausing to kill the rest to her drink, “did you know I grew up with a bit of a Southern accent?”

“You don’t say?” 

He knows she’s from Virginia. That’s one of the earliest things he had learned about her. Over time, he’s also learned that she prefers her tea impossibly sweet and has a deep affinity for Thomas Jefferson, even though she recognizes his more problematic attributes. And, yes, Steve has learned that she did indeed have an accent. Still does, in some ways, mostly when she’s tired or a little bit tipsy. Like now.

“Mmhmmm. I worked real hard to lose it by the time I got out of the Academy. It would give me away too easily as a spy,” Sharon explains. Her fingers trace around the rim of her glass, and Steve is momentarily mesmerized by the red of her nails and her idle movements. “Besides, people didn’t really take me seriously when I had it. I already had to deal with the pretty blonde stereotype, and the accent only made it worse. Some people seem to think just ‘cause you have a Southern accent, it means your stupid or a redneck. Did you know some asshole started singin’ ‘Take Me Home, County Roads’ my second week? That song is about fuckin’ West Virginia, not Virginia.”

“So you’re saying I can’t sing Rocky Top next time I see you rounding a corner?” 

“I’m honestly a little impressed you know that song.”

“Sam made me watch some college football. I don’t get how people say baseball is boring, and yet enjoy watching that,” Steve grumbles. That is another shock from waking up from the ice. Not only are his Brooklyn Dodgers no more, most of America seems more obsessed with football than the real pastime. 

“I’m more of a basketball kind of girl, if it makes you feel better.” 

“It makes me feel like you’re a dirty heathen, that’s what,” he teases, earning a giggle from Sharon; however, as much as he enjoys the sound of her laugh, he feels the need to be serious for a moment. “And, for what it’s worth, no matter what accent you have, I think you’re brilliant.”

Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink. “Pretty high praise comin’ from a guy who is friends with folks with multiple PhDs.” 

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, pieces of paper aren’t the only way to measure someone’s brilliance,” Steve replies. There is no doubt that Tony Stark and Bruce Banner are the most intelligent men he knows, Shuri too, but there are more ways to measure smarts. “You’re smart, probably kept us from getting caught more times than I can count. You certainly fooled the CIA in order to get Sam and I our gear. And, I will admit, you’ve gotten me to relax a bit.”

“What was that last one? I don’t think I heard it correctly,” Sharon replies, her eyes sparkling with mirth. 

He decides that the best course of action, rather than immediately answering, is to kiss her again, long and slow and sure to get a reaction. She pulls away all too soon, and Steve is reminded that he can hold his breath for much, much longer than her. She looks a little bit dazed and exceedingly pleased, far happier than a person on the run and without a country has any right to be.  _ I did that, _ he thinks, not fully sure is he means one or both. 

“I don’t think I can completely turn off my head or my guilt — and I know you don’t want me apologizing anymore. This isn’t that.” A skeptical raise of her brow suggests just how much she believes him. He takes her hand and threads their fingers together. “But, sometimes when I’m with you, for a second I don’t think about that and everything that’s happened. It’s just you and me.” 

“Only sometimes?” Sharon teases, and he fakes a glare that has her making a noise that sounds surprisingly close to a giggle. “Imagine how little you’ll think once you finally get me completely naked.”

His traitorous mind conjures up an imagine, piecemeal from what he’s been lucky enough to see. His cheeks flush red and warm, and Steve struggles for a few moments to formulate a sentence. He wonders if he ought to give more thought to spiriting her away somewhere nice for the night. Or maybe he should check in with T’Challa to see if matters in Wakanda have calmed down a bit. Travel back, check in on Buck. Natasha might like that, if he gives her that reason. And if he and Sharon were to, perhaps, make use of the private quarters with those gorgeous views. Well, who could possibly blame them? 

“I...well, that would be nice,” he tells here once he’s able to connect his brain to his mouth.

“Oh, just nice?” She is going to drive him mad, she knows it. This only draws him to her more, a moth to a flame. 

“Christ, Shar, you’re killing me here.”

“Actually, you both are killing me.” Wanda slides into the seat opposite of them, frowning and tapping her temples.  _ Telepath.  _ “Perhaps that Africa visit is in order. Sooner better than later.”

“Africa?” Sam asks, finally joining them. He plops into the booth, movements far looser than normal. He is, however, not drunk enough to forget the code they’d established when talking about their travel locations. Wakanda is giving too much away, but Africa is a whole continent. Plenty of places to go. “We’re heading back there after this?”

“News to me,” Sharon adds, brows adorably knitting together. 

Steve sends a half-hearted glare in Wanda’s direction that he doesn’t mean. “She’s in my head.”

“Am not. You’re just thinking loud,” Wanda replies back, and Steve flushes. 

He mouths ‘Sorry,’ which she seems to accept. Sharon and Sam share perplexed glances, and Steve only shrugs. They’ll figure it out sooner or later. “You people are the ones saying we need a break. So we can take a longer one elsewhere.”

“He wants to get laid,” Wanda adds. This time Steve truly glares at her as the others laugh. Wanda only shrugs. “What? You told me that the best teams are honest with one another.” 

“She’s got you there, man,” Sam says between bouts of laughter. Even Sharon is laughing, her face buried into his shoulder. 

“Oh, baby, you only had to ask.” Her words are teasing, but she nonetheless squeezes his hand tightly. He decides to consider that a promise, and he squeezes hers in return. 

“Alright, alright. The less we talk about my sex life—”

“Or lack thereof.”

“—the better.” Steve glares at Sam for his interjection and points a finger. “Now, for that, I’m going to kick your ass at pool.”

“Oh, buddy, you wish.” Sam turns to Wanda, and passes her a conspiratorial smile. “C’mon, we can do doubles. Show the lovebirds just how to play.”   
  
Wanda smiles and nods, clearly pleased by the suggestion. From there, it’s the lot of them sliding out of the booth, Sharon’s hand still firmly in his until it is time to pass out the cues and play. Sam and Wanda end up with solids, he and Sharon stripes — “Like the flag,” Sharon declares, bumping her hip into his. 

He begins to feel some, but not all, of the tension begin to relax from his shoulders. Sam whoops when Wanda knocks a solid ball into the corner pocket, putting them ahead. He catches Sharon’s attention from across the table, sends her a small smile as her marvels at her beauty and everyone’s willingness to follow him across the ends of the earth. 

He means what he said when he told Sharon that he doesn’t think he can ever rid himself of the guilt.  _ Heavy is the head that wears the crown.  _ But moments like this, his friends laughing and the woman he ( _ loves? _ ) cares deeply for looking at him like he’s a hero, well, he thinks he might be able to carry that burden after all. 


End file.
